We’ve had a busy couple weekends at the Rumpus lately, and we wanted to make sure nobody missed any of the spectacular essays and book reviews we’ve been posting.
For example, this weekend we reviewed Bradley L. Garrett’s urban-exploration treatise Explore Everything, and Thea Goodman wrote about her complex relationship with a cousin who suffered a severe burn and later overdosed.
And last weekend saw a new essay by Emily Rapp, as searing and challenging as ever, about her new pregnancy after losing her son Ronan last year to Tay-Sachs disease. A preview:
I’m expecting a child, a girl, in March. My partner Kent and I were ambitious about conceiving, about starting a family, in part because we fell into a deep adult love–a feeling of falling that is always gracious and generous and large–while we watched a child die, an experience that is telescoped to a narrow room, lightless and cold. The contrast made us want to kick back against the world, against the beauty and unfairness of it.